When four or five speakers had expressed themselves to this effect, in feeble and colorless language, it was the turn of Titus Claudius Mucianus himself. He rose with the lofty indifference of a man, who no longer has a doubt of the triumph of his cause. He abstained, almost too evidently, from all rhetorical effects. In a cold and strictly business-like address he recapitulated the points from which the government viewed the measure. Cornelius Cinna, he said, was entirely wrong, if he thought that its object was to fetter liberty of thought and belief. The whole matter bore a simply political aspect in the eyes of the government. He thanked the eloquent speaker, who had thrown so much light on the subject from the other side; such a dissertation always tended to enlightenment. At the same time, he hoped that the assembled Fathers would allow themselves to be guided rather by the force of solid argument, than by the dazzling light of a brilliant oratorical display. Then, step by step, he proceeded to demolish Cinna’s assertions, and it was with special emphasis, that he combatted the idea that the new law would conduce to espionage and informing; the measure--as the most superficial glance could detect--contained nothing to arouse suspicion on that score. Cornelius Cinna had altogether misunderstood its tendency. The speaker ended with a short but striking picture of the danger to society, which it was proposed to guard against, and appealed to the assembled Fathers, in the words of the old Roman text of warning: "Be on your guard, lest the Fatherland should suffer!"[31] A thunder of applause filled the temple. The remaining senators renounced all expression of opinion, and the praetor proceeded to collect the votes by a show of hands.[32] The measure was passed against a minority of six. The exhausted senators rose and made their way homewards--only just in time for the usual supper-hour. Quintus Claudius supped late and alone. He had spent the whole day in solitude in his room; gloomy and anxious forebodings tortured his soul. He eat but little, and then again withdrew--not even Blepyrus was admitted to his apartments. At about the beginning of the second vigil, Quintus threw on his toga and went out slowly into the moonless night. After a long walk he reached the coppice on the bank of the Almo, where Euterpe and Diphilus were waiting for him. An hour later the deed was done. Quintus was baptized by the eldest member of the congregation of Nazarenes. It was nearly midnight, when he took his way homewards. The endless Appian Way was silent as he turned into it, and silent too was the busy city. It was not till he reached the Flavian amphitheatre, that he met any stir of life. There, standing by the fountain of the Meta Sudans, was a group of men, talking eagerly. They were discussing the event of the day--the edict just published against the Christians.